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"No, it doesn't." Sabrina's mind was racing. "So let's say the two incidents are related. Do you think Russ knew something?"
"Yeah, that's exactly what I think." An exasperated wave of his arm. "Of course I have no proof. But in my gut, I believe it. And I have a feeling Whitman and Barton do, too."
"So they know about Russ's murder?"
"They've been on it since late last night. They were notified because of Russ's employment at Ruisseau, and the possible link to Carson's shooting. They contacted Stan right away, since Russ had no family. Stan called me and Susan."
"Susan?" Sabrina asked, puzzled.
"Russ was one of her YouthOp kids. According to Stan, she fell apart when he told her. And she's still a mess today. When Stan called me with an update—which was about ten minutes ago from the car—he said that Susan was at Carson's bedside when he got there to break the news. She held it together, barely. Before Stan left the hospital, he got Dr. Radison to give her a sedative. She's not going to do Carson any good if she falls apart. By the way, that's where Stan's coming from now, which is why he wasn't here to welcome you."
Sabrina didn't give a damn about the missing welcome. But the reason behind it didn't sit well with her. "Dylan, maybe Stan should have waited a while to drop this news on Carson. If he liked this kid as much as you say, he's going to take it hard. And if he's got Susan's emotional meltdown to deal with, too, it might cause a setback...."
"It won't. Carson won't let it. If anything, it'll make him fight harder, because he'll be hell-bent on finding out who did this. I don't have to tell you how protective of his staff he is. Pumping a bullet into him is one thing; killing one of his people is another. Believe me, Stan made the right decision. Carson would be more pissed if we kept this news from him. Besides, if we'd waited, he would have ended up hearing about it from the cops or someone else. It's better that he heard it from Stan."
"So he's okay?"
"He's furious. And he's upset, probably more so than he's letting on, at least in front of Susan. I'll get over to the hospital later and check on him myself." Dylan looked at Sabrina and, for the first time this morning, seemed to actually see her. "You're welcome to come with me."
"Thanks. That would make me feel a lot better."
He gave her a quick once-over, then a longer, more leisurely perusal, and the tension in his jaw eased a bit.
"Well?" Sabrina asked lightly. "What's the verdict?"
"Can I be honest? Or will you bring me up on harassment charges?"
"I think I can restrain myself. Go for it."
"Okay then. You look incredible. Beauty and power combined. A drop-dead gorgeous corporate dynamo. Even I'm intimidated."
Her lips twitched. "Liar. Nothing intimidates you. But I appreciate the vote of confidence."
Dylan released a sharp breath. "Sabrina, I'm sorry if I came at you like a Mack truck when you first walked in. I'm just infuriated and frustrated. Russ was just a kid. I want to find whoever did this to him and choke the bastard to death."
"Don't apologize. It's a horrible tragedy. I feel sick and I never even met Russ." She pursed her lips. "The only thing I'm hoping is that if the two crimes are connected—and I agree with you that they are—that it leaves twice as much room for error. Whoever did this isn't a pro. Somewhere, somehow, the tiniest shred of evidence exists. And Whitman and Barton will find it."
"If they don't, I will," Dylan muttered. "I can't take much more of this sit tight and be patient crap. I'm not the passive type."
"No kidding." Sabrina frowned. "Don't do anything stupid, Dylan. We're talking about a murderer, not a street brawler."
"I realize that." He raked a hand through his hair, clearly trying to get himself together. "Let's change the subject." A quick glance at his watch. "We have about a half hour before the meeting. I can answer any preliminary questions you came up with after reading through that mound of material Stan gave you. If any of the questions is out of my league, we can pull Stan aside before going into the conference room."
Sabrina's shoulders lifted in a composed shrug. "That won't be necessary. The material Stan gave me was comprehensive. Any specifics I need I'll get from each department head. And whatever additional questions crop up as we go along, I'll jump right in and ask for clarification."
"Good." Dylan gestured toward the sideboard, where a steaming carafe sat. "Want some coffee? I'm warning you ahead of time, it's leaded. There's decaf in the coffee room for the less intrepid. We can take a walk down there now, if you'd like."
"Nope." An adamant shake of her head. "I'm in desperate need of the leaded kind. I didn't get much sleep last night."
Dylan shot her a quizzical look as he went over, poured two mugs of coffee. "Did you move into your new place?"
"Um-hum. All done. I soaked in my first hot bath reading Ruisseau's fourth quarter projections. And I snuggled in my new bed analyzing Ruisseau's financial statements and marketing campaign. Quite a first night in my new home. It was as close to heaven as it gets."
Laughter rumbled in Dylan's chest. "It sounds great. No wonder you need this." He handed her a mug, motioning for her to have a seat in his conference area.
"No complaints," she assured him, nodding her thanks as she sank down in a cozy tufted chair. "All-nighters go with the territory. Besides, in all seriousness, the apartment really is beautiful—not to mention much roomier and more comfortable than a hotel room." She sipped at her coffee. "You mentioned that you live three blocks away."
"Sure do. 341 West 76th Street."
